Climbing Away From My Fear Of White Plains

Today I took another ride into Connecticut.  I figured--correctly--that I wouldn't encounter heavy traffic even along Boston Post Road, as Route 1 is known in Westchester County.  Most likely, folks from the Nutmeg State already took off for the weekend yesterday, or even the day before.  Also, riding to Connecticut means riding away from most of the beaches in this area, which is where most travelers are going or have gone this weekend, which includes the Monday holiday of Labor Day.

I thought about taking off for some place or another this weekend.  Now I'm glad I didn't:  The ride I took today is more emotionally relaxing and satisfying than just about any trip I could have taken on a crowded train, plane or bus.  Also, Greenwich, Mianus and Byram aren't full of tourists, and the people who stayed in town are relaxed and friendly.

This weekend, I also plan to ride again and meet a friend or two here in the city, which is strangely idyllic.  Perhaps we'll go to a museum or show, or just "do lunch."

But I digress.  I took slightly different routes through the Bronx and lower Westchester County than I had on previous rides.  I also wandered through an area of Greenwich--up a hill--I hadn't seen before.  There are houses built on stretches of land that could serve as game preserves.  ("Deer crossing" signs were everywhere.)  I stopped in a park where I was reminded that this is indeed the unofficial last weekend of summer, and the fall--the actual season as well as the autumn that includes the march of time across people's lives:

All right, I'm making more of this photo than is really there.  The park itself is a well-kept spread of lawn with a single picnic table.  I didn't want or need anything else.

Behind me, this tree stood authoritatively.  It seemed such an indignity for it to share the same ground, from which it's grown for decades (if not centuries) with a fence and a garbage can.

That tree seems like a New England tree:  It belongs where it is. Trees I see in the city, as lovely as they are, so often seem like they are where they are only at the pleasure of some land owner or agency that can evict or "retire" (I've heard the word used in that way) it to make way for something more profitable or convenient.

The ride back took me up and down more hills, past more palatial estates.  Nowhere did I find a sign one normally finds when leaving or entering a state.  I knew I had crossed back into New York State only because of a sign from the local police department--in Rye Brook--asking people to report drivers who text. 


A few miles up the road, I passed through a city I had always avoided: White Plains.  Somehow the name terrified me:  I always imagined folks even paler than I am chasing away....someone like me?  OK, maybe not me, but certainly most of the students I've had.

(For years, New Hampshire was one of two states that didn't observe Martin Luther King Day.  I actually wondered whether it had something to do with having the White Mountains.  Then I realized Arizona, the other state that didn't recognize MLK Day, had no such excuse!)




White Plains was a bit bland, though not terrible.  It has a road--Mamaroneck Road--that actually becomes rather quaint, in spite of the chain stores on it, after it passes under the highway and continues toward the town for which it's named.

The rest of the ride was as pleasant as the warm afternoon with few clouds and little humidity. Even though I pedaled about 140 kilometers, I barely broke a sweat.  But the relatively pleasant surprise of White Plains was balanced by a signal of The End of the World As We Know It:

The South Bronx is becoming SoBro?  Oh, no! 
 

Google As I Say, Not As I Do

I was a hypocrite.  There was something I used to forbid my students from using.  Then, one day--you know where this is going!--one of my students caught me red-handed with it.

If you guessed that thing is a smartphone, you'd be on the right track.  I'm talking about something people often use on their phones--and tablets and laptops.

It's the conduit that led some of you, my dear readers, to this blog.

You guessed it:  Google. 

Larry Page and Sergey Brin, its creators, formally incorporated their company on this date, 4 September, in 1998. 

I learned of Google's birthday, if you will when I was--of course--Googling something. 

(What kind of role model am I?  I teach students not to verb nouns.  And I said I was "googling" something!)

It's quite a coincidence-- isn't it?--that Google's birthday is the day after that of eBay, which turned 20 yesterday.  It wasn't the first Internet search engine, but it was probably the first to offer access to so much of the worldwide web in a format that most people can easily use. 



Google's webpage, 1998

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, eBay seems to have been tailor-made for cyclists, especially those who are looking for parts and accessories, even bikes, that are no longer made or are simply difficult to find.  Google, I believe, has been a boon for cyclists in a similar way:  It has given us access to all sorts of information about bicycles and cycling. 

Cyclists have been using Google to look for assembly or repair instructions, check parts compatiblity , find bike clubs and rides, learn about an obscure bike brand and search for all sorts of other cycling-related information for more than a decade now.  All sorts of bicycle catalogues, manuals, brochures and magazines have been scanned and posted to various sites on the web, nearly all of which can be reached by Google. 


Messrs. Page and Brin certainly chose quite the date to turn their Stanford research project into one of the world's great cash cows.  Here are some other interesting and important events that took place on 4 September:

• 475 --Romulus Augustus, the last Emperor of the Western Roman Empire, was deposed when Odacer proclaimed himself "King of Italy".   According to many historians, this event effectively ended the Roman Empire.
• 1781--City of Los Angeles was founded.
• 1870--Emperor Napoleon III of France was deposed and The Third Repubic was declared. (This is the reason why Paris and other French cities have streets called "rue 4 Septembre".)
• 1888--George Eastman registered the trademark "Kodak" and received a patent for his camera, the first to use roll film.
• 1951--The first live transcontinental television broadcast took place in San Francisco. 
• 1972--Mark Spitz became the first competitor to win seven gold medals in a single Olympiad.

And...in 1957, Ford Motor Company introduced the Edsel. Oh, well.

Fun fact:  Have you ever noticed that the letters of the Google logo are blue, yellow, red and green?  Those just happen to be the colors of Lego blocks--which were used to build the enclosure that housed the first Google computer at Stanford.


 

Your Secret Vice Is 20 Years Old Today!

Admit it:  It's the site you go to when nobody's looking.

It's the site you click on to in the confines of your cubicle, when you think the boss is out to lunch.

It's the site where, every time you get your credit card bill, you're shocked at how much you've spent.

What site is it?

No, it's not Sexy Asian Ladies or Hot Firefighters.  And it's not the offshore casino site.

You know what I'm talking about:  eBay, the world's secret vice.

From TrueNorth

Today it turned 20 years old.  It began when Pierre Omidyar wanted to find out what would happen if everyone in  the world had access to a single global marketplace.  

Over Labor Day weekend in 1995, he wrote the code for an auction website on which he listed a broken lazer pointer he was going to throw away.  That lazer pointer, of course, became the very first item sold on AuctionWeb, as eBay was known for its first two years.  

(Omidyar couldn't believe someone would buy a broken lazer pointer. He sent a message to the buyer reminding him that the pointer was indeed non-functioning.  The buyer replied that he understood and was, in fact, a collector of used lazer pointers.  Now that's a strange hobby!)

Within a week of AuctionWeb's launch, a pair of autographed Marky Mark underwear sold for $400.  Other items sold on the site during that week included a Superman metal lunchbox for $22 and a Toyota Tercel for $3200.

I tried to, but couldn't, find out what was the first bicycle-related item sold on the site.  I suspect it was sold not too long after AuctionWeb was launced.  After all, AuctionWeb/eBay started in the San Francisco Bay area, which was arguably the most cycle-centric area of the United States before Portland stole some of its thunder.  Also, eBay seems as if it was made for cyclists, as so many of us are selling our old bikes, parts and accessories as we acquire new ones, or are looking for replacement parts--or stylish jerseys and bags-- that are no longer made.

EBay has been called the world's largest garage sale.  For cyclists, it's the world's biggest swap meet.  

Now I'm going to look for a pair of neon yellow triathlon handlebars.

Really Riding On Rails

As you probably know, the Rails to Trails Conservancy has been instrumental in turning abandoned railroad lines into cycling and hiking trails. As RTC continues its work, there are still many former railway lines that would make great trails, but Congress might slash some of the funding it has previously allotted to such conversions.

I have shown, in previous posts, some abandoned rail lines within a few miles of my home that would make wonderful cycling and walking routes.  If and when they will be converted is anybody's guess. 

In the meantime, cyclists who want to use those railways have a two options.  One is to ride in the rail bed.  On a road or fixed-gear bike with skinny tires--or even a touring or hybrid bike--that could be very difficult, if not impossible, as those beds are filled with various combinations of rail ties (in various states of decay) as well as gravel, weeds, roots and whatever people dump there--which can include old washing machines and refrigerators!  Even on a mountain or cyclo-cross bike, such conditions wouldn't be easy to negotiate.

The other option is to ride on the rails.  I thought I was being sarcastic the first time I suggested it, but apparently there are people who do it:



 

Carbon Fiber? Would John Boultbee Approve?

Some of us learned the meaning of the word "oxymoron" through examples like "dietetic candy", "military intelligence" and "business ethics".  Not so long ago, "Brooklyn Republican" would have made the list.

Some would say that "carbon fiber Brooks saddle" would also serve the purpose.  In fact, some cyclists believe that "carbon fiber" and "Brooks saddle" should not be on the same page, let alone the same bicycle.

In one way, I would agree with such a sentiment.  Brooks saddles and anything made from carbon fiber seem to represent the absolute poles of the cycling world.  The latter connotes high technology, light weight, advanced manufacturing techniques and Darth Vader graphics.  Brooks saddles, on the other hand, represent tradition, practicality and hand craftsmanship.  And until recently, they had a restrained, classical aesthetic.

Plus, if you buy and like a Professional or B17, there's a good chance you'll be riding it for the rest of your life (especially if you're around my age!).  On the other hand, very few cyclists are riding carbon-fiber bikes or parts that are more than a few years old.  Nobody really knows how long the latest carbon fiber bikes will last:  They don't deteriorate unless exposed to UV rays--and, according to Steve A, you don't have to worry about them breaking as long as you don't crash them-- but there is no "real world" data as to how many miles and how much punishment carbon fiber frame members and components can endure.  Professional racing teams give their riders new bikes every year as a matter of course; I don't know whether that's done as a precaution (airlines replace parts of their jets after a certain number of kilometers or a certain amount of air time, whether or not they seem to need replacing) or whether the bikes are ready for the scrap heap at the end of a season.

Now, I'm sure there are carbon fiber bikes adorned with Brooks leather saddles.  As "The Retrogrouch" points out, they may be attempts at irony. (To which I say:  If you're trying to achieve it, it isn't irony!) Then again, there probably are people riding that combination because they like the ride qualities of the bike and saddle, or because they figure that they have such a light bike that they won't be weighed down by a Brooks "brick".  

Such people remind me of the woman I used to know who made floats with Diet Coke and Haagen-Dazs ice cream. 

But I digress.  Apparently, there is an attempt to marry, if you will, two of the most disparate elements of the cycling world.  Again, from Retrogrouch, I've learned that Brooks is developing the C13:  a C15 saddle with carbon fiber rails.

A prototype of the brooks C 13. From Bikeboard

 

Now, you might say that the C15 isn't really a Brooks saddle.  I'd agree with you, at least partway:  Its top is not made of leather, and--shocker!--it's made in Italy, where the plastic-based racing saddle as we know it was first developed.

Then again, purists would say that the "real" Brooks hasn't existed in about fifteen years, when Selle Royal purchased the saddle-maker after Sturmey Archer, the company that owned it, went bankrupt.  (Around the same time, Taiwan-based Sun Race bought SA's hub and gear businesses.  So, if you've bought an SA hub since the early part of this century, it was made in Taiwan.)  Thus, while the Professionals, B17s, Swallows, B72s and other favorites of the leather-saddle line are still made in England, more and more of the company's saddle production has shifted to Italy.  And some Brooks accessories, such as the leather bar wrap, are being made in China.

As much as I love my Pros and B17s, I think the name "Brooks" conjures up a legend, even a romance, of bikes past as it does actual saddles and bags.  The fact is that even before the Selle Royal buyout, not all Brooks saddles were made of leather.  During the 1970s, Brooks made--in England--some plastic-based saddles with padding and vinyl or leather parts that seemed to be attempts to mimic their Italian counterparts.  A few bikes came with them as original equipment; however, almost nobody bought them as replacements because the sort of person who wanted that kind of saddle was going to buy Italian anyway. 

Also, Brooks made vinyl-topped sprung "mattress" saddles that were sometimes found on women's versions of English three-speeds during the 1950's and 1960's.  Before that, Brooks offered similar saddles topped with rubberized  canvas (similar, at least in concept, to today's C15 and C17) and padded with horsehair. 

So, while Brooks will probably always be identified, at least in the public mind, with the riveted leather saddles we've all seen--and many of us ride and love--offering technological updates to their products is nothing new for the company John Boultbee Brooks founded in 1866.  When he first offered a saddle that consisted of a piece of leather stretched and riveted to iron rails, it was considered a radical new technology.  (Velocipedes of the time usually had curved wooden seats, rather like the backs of  carousel horses.)  More than a century later, many of us are still riding variations of his leather saddle.  And, I suspect, there will be some cyclists in the generations to come who, once they try a B17, Professional, Swallow, B67 or other leather Brooks saddle, will not want to ride anything else.

Thus, I am confident that Brooks can make a saddle with carbon fiber rails--and still be Brooks.

A Comparison Of Bike Share And Subway Systems: Paris And New York

Although I didn't use Velib when I was in Paris, I couldn't help but to marvel at some aspects of it.

For one, it seemed that quite a few riders on Velib bikes weren't tourists.  Now, here in New York, some people ride Citibikes to and from work, while others who don't own bikes sometimes take out those familiar blue bikes for spins around the neighborhood.  But such riders seemed more common on Paris streets.

But what really impressed me is how well-covered the city is:  One doesn't have to go more than a few blocks, even in the outlying arrondissements, to find a Velib port.  Also, one can find those ports and bikes in areas outside Paris proper:  I saw them in Vincennes, and along the way between the famous Chateau and the City of Light.  I also spotted the ports and bikes in several towns along the way to Versailles.

By contrast, the borough of Queens got its first Citibike stations earlier this month, in Long Island City--not very far from where I live.  Critics say that the new port doesn't really represent an expansion into the Borough of Homes because the ports are next to the subway stations closest to Manhattan, and on the Queens side of the Queensborough/59th Street Bridge.  Many people regard Long Island City (and my 'hood of Astoria) as satellites of Manhattan rather than true Queens neighborhoods.

The same criticism can be made, I think, about the placement of Citibike stations in Brooklyn:  Williamsburg, right next to the eponymous bridge that links it to Manhattan, was the first non-Manhattan neighborhood to get Citibike.  Nobody expects to see the blue bikes in the far southeastern and southwestern neighborhoods of the borough any time soon.  And it would be more than surprising if the bike share program ever came to Staten Island at all.

To be fair, Velib started in 2007, while the first Citibikes didn't roll down city streets until two years ago.  Still, the difference in how each program covers its city reflects another pattern in each city's transportation infrastructure.

You see, all of the neighborhoods that have, or are getting, Citibikes, are ones that are well-served by New York City's subway and bus systems.  They have major lines linking them to midtown and downtown Manhattan, and they are the sorts of neighborhoods in which many people (myself included) live car-free.



New York City Subway map, 2015.  Manhattan is the island to the left; Staten Island is the one in the inset.  Brooklyn and Queens are to the right, and the Bronx is at the top. 

There are large swaths of the city that have no mass transportation at all.  None of the subways cross the city lines into New Jersey, Long Island or Westchester County, and most of the eastern half of Queens--as well as parts of southwestern and southeastern Brooklyn--have never had subway service.  Kings Plaza Mall, the largest retail area in Brooklyn, is about seven kilometers from the nearest subway stop.  So is JFK International Airport--which, until five years ago, didn't even have a light-rail link to the city's subways or the Long Island Rail Road.

Even in Manhattan, there are transportation "deserts", if you will.  One reason for that is that most of the subway lines on the island run parallel to each other, in  north-south ("uptown-downtown" in Big Apple parlance) routes.  Only two lines run across Manhattan:  the #7 train under 42nd Street and the "L" under 14th Street.  The lines that enter Manhattan from Brooklyn, Queens or the Bronx become part of the "uptown/downtown" grid once they reach Manhattan.



Paris Metro map

In Paris, by contrast, the lines are spread in patterns that have been likened to the circulatory system of the human body.  One result is that no point within the City of Light is more than 500 meters (about 1/3 mile, or six New York City blocks) from a Metro station.  Some of the inner suburbs, such as Levallois-Perret, are nearly as well-served as central Paris.  Even so, there are proposals to not only add service within the city and inner suburbs, but to extend several lines further out.

I find it fascinating that both rapid transit and bike sharing systems in New York and Paris reflect the history of planning (or, in some cases, lack thereof) in each city. 

In my hometown, the first subway lines were built by private financiers who operated them, under city contract, in much the same way they would conduct their other businesses.  All of the city's transit lines were not brought under the umbrella of one governmental organization until the 1950's.  In a similar fashion, the city's bike share program, while initiated by the city, is run by Citibank--which can make (or lose) money as it could with its banking, real estate and other businesses. 

On the other hand, the Paris Metro system was centrally planned from the beginning.  That, I believe, is why lines aren't duplicated and, if you want to transfer from one line to another, you don't have to go all the way to the other end of town, as switching trains in New York sometimes necessitates.  And, interestingly, Velib was started by the Mairie  (City Hall) of Paris, which still owns the system although JC Decaux operates it.

Knowing all of this, I don't feel I'm being cynical or pessimistic in saying that Velib will be in Orleans before Citibike comes to Staten Island!

 

Seeing The Coming Heat Wave

Every few years, it seems, we get the sort of summer we've been having this year:  Not exceptionally warm through most of June, July and August--until a heat wave comes right around Labor Day. 

Officially, today wasn't part of a "heat wave". But tomorrow is supposed to be the beginning of one.  Today, the temperature reached 33C and the air grew more humid:  a  marked contrast to the dry, almost crisp conditions we'd had for a few days.

I went for a ride anyway, out to the middle of Long Island and back.  I sweated, but no more than I have on other rides, and I wasn't really tired after 120 km.  But tomorrow will be toasty, the forecasters say:  about 35C.  And the two days after that will be hotter, and more humid.

I'll be working, so I'll probably ride late in the day, or the evening, when--at least in theory--it should be a touch cooler, if not less humid.


Even if I hadn't heard the forecast, I think I would have known the heat wave was coming.  I believe I saw it in the slightly reddish hue of the full moon that loomed over the Amtrak trestle that transverses Randall's Island when I was riding home last night:

 

Get Out Of My Way!

If you read the post I wrote yesterday, you might not believe what I'm about to say.

OK, here goes:  When I sluicing the glass and concrete canyons of Manhattan--delivering everything from the title for land on which towers would be built, pizza with anchovies and pineapple (it smelled even worse than it sounds!), an Andy Warhol print (to Judy Collins, no less!), payroll documents and little packages with their unwritten, unspoken "don't ask, don't tell" policies, if you know what I mean--cab, truck and limo drivers actually used to back or steer out of my way when they saw me coming. 

Then again, if you knew me in those days, you'd know I'm not exaggerating.  Heck, people used to cross the street when they saw me.  I was young, full of testosterone--and angry, about being full of testosterone as well as other things, real and imagined.

Being a bike messenger was probably the one job (OK, one of the two or three, perhaps) in which being young and angry--and stupid enough to believe that my anger was a sign of how smart and sensitive I was--served me well.  I was quick; I got lots of deliveries and tips and a few gifts.  And, oh yeah, a couple of dates:  I guess it has something to do with what you've heard about sex with crazy people.  (It's true.  The only problem is that, once the act is done, you have that crazy person to deal with.)  It's probably a good thing I was a bike messenger:  It's probably one of the few jobs in which I could physically channel my rage and not get myself into trouble--let alone get paid for it! 

Now, if you've been reading this blog--or if you know me--you know I'm not the badass I imagined myself to be--or, at least, tried to make people believe I was.  I know that and, honestly, I'm happy about it.  Everything in life--including bike riding--is better even if I don't have the physical strength I once did.

Still, I take pride in knowing this guy has nothing on the bike messenger I was back in the day:

From Engadget

 

Mama Mechanic

This afternoon I took a ride out to the Rockaways on Tosca, my Mercian fixie.

The weather was lovely, as it was yesterday:  warm, but not overly so, with high puffy clouds floating across expanses of blue sky.  And, as luck would have it, I rode into the wind on my way out to Rockaway Beach and Far Rockaway.  That meant, of course, that on my way home, I could pedal about 20 RPM faster without trying.

Anyway, I was coasting through an area of Gateway National Recreation area frequented by bird-watchers and wildlife photographers--in plain view of JFK International Airport!  My external reverie seemed to embody the one that was playing out within me at that moment:  I am still in the afterglow of my trip to Paris and of the wonderful late-day ride to Connecticut I enjoyed yesterday.  I have been doing some writing away from this blog (I don't want to give too much away!) and I'm feeling optimistic about the semester that's about to begin. Now all I need is to hit the Lotto jackpot and meet the love of my life.  Hmm...I'm not so sure about the latter.  Being single isn't so bad after you've been in an abusive relationship or two.


Wouldn't you know...a cute young guy approaches me from behind.  "Sir!"  "Sir!"  He sounded distressed, so I turned to look at him.  (His distress was the only reason I looked at him, I swear! ;-))  "Do you...Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"Don't worry."

"You don't see a lot of women riding here.  And, from behind, you were pedaling like a dude."

I said nothing. (I didn't want to give too much away!)

"Do you have an allen key?"

"Yes, I do."

Just then I saw the reason why he asked:  His handlebar slipped and rolled inside the stem.

"We can't let you ride like that," I said.

"I swapped this handlebar today.  I guess I didn't tighten it enough."

"Well, let's hope it's the right diameter."

"I thought they were all the same size."

I shook my head and, from the corner of my eye, saw the source of the problem.  He had a stem with a faceplate that bolt in the four corners. He'd tightened the top two bolts much more than the lower ones.  So, in addition to the usual hazards of a loose handlebar, he ran the risk of shearing off the faceplate and, possibly, taking an even nastier spill than he might have had he only leaned on loose bars. 

Before I tightened the stem bolts, I asked him to move the bar to a position he likes.  Good thing: I noticed that his grips slipped on the bars.

He said he'd used water to slide the rubber grips onto the bars.   I grabbed the edge of the right grip and rolled it up to the end of the bar.  Then I unrolled it, and the grip--an Oury--stayed as if it had been epoxied to the bar.  I did the same for his left grip.

Then I told him to grab the grip and try to roll it, and to try to move the bar in the stem.  Everything was as firmly in place as the pyramids.

"Lady, I don't know how to thank you enough."

"Just be careful," I said in my most maternal tone.  Really, he's a nice kid--he's been working as a lifeguard--and want him to live and ride long.
 

In Twilight And Afterglow With Arielle

It was a gorgeous late-summer day...and life intervened.  The new semester is starting, so I had various things to attend to, including course outlines and finding and restoring links to readings and films I'm assigning my students.

At least I got out to ride in the middle of the afternoon,.  I took Arielle, my Mercian Audax, off the peg and inflated the tires.  I knew she would feel great after spending a week on a rented hybrid, but Arielle exceeded my hopes and expectations. I felt as if I were in a race car suspended by hot-air balloons.  Or maybe a flying carpet with jet engines.

Whatever the metaphor, the bike overcame the deficiencies in the human engine.  Possibly the best part of all was riding a Brooks Professional--which is starting to feel really broken-in--after whatever was on the rental bike and the cheaper leather seat on my LeTour.

The bike felt so good I just wanted to keep on riding it.  And that's what I did, all the way to Connecticut.

I'd've gone even further than I did into the Nutmeg State, but I really didn't want to ride back in the dark.  I have lights, but riding back from ConnectIicut means passing through a couple of dodgy neighborhoods.  I've ridden them in the dark, with no problems, but I prefer to avoid nocturnal rambles in them.

I descended to the Queens side of the RFK-Triborough Bridge just as the sun was setting.  From there, it's only a kilometer to my apartment after 120 kilometers of delightful cycling. 

I arrived in a glow of twilight, and in an afterglow of an invigorating ride--and, of course, my adventures of the past few weeks!